


Karmic Justice

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Times, Humor, M/M, Romance, Series: Bright Destiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve Young's qualifications as a guide are discussed as a prelude to much angst and a dismaying lack of discretion.<br/>This story is a sequel to Cosmic Iron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karmic Justice

## Karmic Justice

by Meredith Lynne

Author's webpage: <http://www2.netdoor.com/~meredith/merry/merry.htm>

* * *

"Come on, Jim. This is not rocket science, you can _do_ this if you'll just concentrate." Even as he spoke, Blair knew it was over; his partner's eyes hadn't left the TV set since the Forty-niner's took the field over an hour ago. It was easier to pull the man back from a zone-out than to tear him away from what he considered a hot contest. 

"I _am_ concentrating," Jim answered without turning. "I'm concentrating on the game." 

Blair groaned, and threw himself back against the couch cushions. "Man, you are _killing_ me. You know, if we don't do these tests, I'm never gonna finish my dissertation. If I don't finish my dissertation, I'm never gonna get my doctorate and if I don't get my doctorate, you are _stuck_ with me as a roommate for the rest of your natural life." Blair paused for just a moment to conceal the thrill of excitement that tingled through him at that prospect. [Friend mode, Sandburg,] he reminded himself. [Guide mode. Friend and Guide. Shut it down.] "Is the game really worth that to you? Because if it is, I'll just shut up now." 

Jim turned away from the TV set and grinned. "Promises, promises," he said. "Look, we'll do the test at half-time, okay? Sooner, if Young's linemen don't get their act together." 

"He went down again?" Blair leaned forward, looking for number eight, trying not to seem interested as his eyes tracked the red uniforms spread out over the field. He wasn't generally fond of football, but he liked Steve Young; the 'Niner's starting quarterback was one of the few people Blair knew of in the world who got knocked around on the job more often than _he_ did. Of course, when Young finally took one concussion too many, he'd have the comfort of millions to fall back on. Blair would have, at best, a dissertation he probably couldn't publish and a permanent assignment to Jim's desk. When he factored in getting shot at, nearly blown up, held hostage, and kidnapped by psychopaths, Blair had to seriously wonder if the City of Cascade didn't at least owe him a pension plan. "How many times has he been injured this season?" 

"Three, and that's just the head shots. The man needs a Blessed Protector at least as much as you do." 

"Yeah? Well, don't go applying for the position; I'm not done with you yet." [And I'm never going to be, Ellison, so just don't even think about it. Don't even.] Blair let his eyes rest on Jim's for just a moment, then stood up. Pining wasn't working for him, but getting a little buzzed just might. "I'm getting a beer. You want one?" 

"You sure it won't interfere with your little experiment?" 

"No more than your _total_ lack of cooperation," Blair muttered under his breath. 

"I heard that." 

Blair rolled his eyes behind Jim's back. Of course he heard it. Jim heard everything. If Blair didn't know better, he'd think hearing was the one sense over which Jim had complete control. Sentinel vision could come and go. Sentinel touch and taste and smell were haphazard on occasion. But let Blair even _think_ of saying something he didn't want overheard, and Jim knew about it. [The man is wired for sound,] he thought fondly, fighting for some sense of scientific detachment and, once again, losing. It had been a very long time since he'd seen a victory in _that_ arena. 

The man was flat-out beautiful. Blair didn't know why the gods had chosen to curse him with a partner, a Sentinel, who looked like one of their own; he just knew he was well and truly cursed. He hoped the higher-ups were watching, because whatever minor deity was in charge of fucking up Blair Sandburg's life was doing one hell of a job. How a _guy_ \-- and that was a separate torture entirely -- could be so absolutely everything Blair ever wanted, and yet be completely and totally unattainable, was a mystery. [I must've done something unutterably horrible in a former life,] he reasoned, [because my Karma is seriously wrecked.] 

He just hoped whatever it was had been worth the agony of longing for the untouchable Detective James Ellison. 

Blair nearly groaned as his feelings dove past aesthetic appreciation and into desire. Just when he thought he had a handle on it, just when he thought whatever madness had possessed him had finally run its course, the longing swept over him again. It caught him off-guard, striking both heart and body, spreading dark red heat through every part of him. 

[If I don't get out of here I'm going to attack him,] Blair thought in rising panic. [I'm going to just leap on him and he'll think I'm on drugs or something. That Golden stuff again, maybe. Hm. I wonder if I could....No.] Blair shook his head. Molesting Jim and then trying to pass it off as a drug-induced episode of temporary insanity might work -- but only until they brought Blair's battered, bleeding body into the emergency room and ran a blood test. It would come up clean, and then Jim would seriously kill him. 

[I am letting this go,] he said to himself desperately. It worked for anger, why not soul-churning lust? [I am letting this go...I am letting this go...] He fought to calm the wild racing of his heart, to slow the quick, shallow breaths bursting from his lungs. [Think about something else. Get a grip. Relax. Breathe.] 

The internal pep talk did him no good at all; the Guide Voice that worked so well on Jim and everybody else was a complete loss when he tried it on himself. 

Blair had taken three steps toward his partner before he knew he was moving. 

* * *

"Jim." 

Something about Blair's voice turned him, a strange note of urgency. That urgency was translated into panic in the younger man's expression, blue eyes bright and wide and not quite rational. Belatedly, Jim opened himself to sound and immediately picked up his partner's rapidly escalating heartbeat. 

"What is it, Sandburg?" he demanded, eyes scanning the loft for anything that might have scared the kid.. 

Total lockdown. Jim thought he could actually see the walls slamming into place in Blair's eyes, panic replaced suddenly by a blank look that was almost worse than the fear. Just as quickly, the blankness passed; Jim watched in silent amazement as Blair smiled, a little too brightly, and grabbed his jacket from the hook near the door. 

"Out of beer, man. I'll make a run. You need anything?" 

Jim shook his head slowly. "Blair, what the hell--" 

"I'll be back in about half an hour, ok?" 

"Half an hour to drive a mile--?" 

"I'm gonna walk. I could use the air." Blair's smile flashed again. "Later, Jim..." 

Without a backward glance, Blair was gone. 

* * *

Jim winced as the door slammed, glaring at the space his partner had occupied just five seconds ago. [Thanks a lot Blair thanks that hurt like hell and I'm gonna kill you for it when you get back but hey at least I can have a beer while I clean up the blood...] He closed his eyes and tried to breathe the way Blair had taught him: Slow and even, focusing on the imaginary dial in his head that would, with any luck, make his ears feel a little less like somebody was pounding nails into them. 

Worse than the pain, though, or worse than that _particular_ pain, was the feeling of total confusion that washed over him when Blair walked out. [Walked? The kid broke land-speed records to get away from me. Someone, somewhere is playing Chariots of Fire just for Blair Sandburg.] Jim Ellison wasn't accustomed to feeling confused, and he found that he didn't care for it at all. 

Something was up. Something was seriously up with his partner, and Jim was completely shut out of it. One second Blair was just Blair, droning on about his tests and theories and how sadly abused he was by just about everybody, and the next second he was absolutely babbling. A lot of people would have had a hard time distinguishing that truly surreal and disturbing spiel about the beer from typical Sandburg rambling, but Jim had made a hobby out of listening to Blair. Most of the time Blair thought he was ignoring him or tuning him out, maybe even zoning, but the truth was, the kid had a great voice and it was damn distracting. [Just say it, Ellison. The kid has a great just about everything.] 

It had taken about two weeks for Jim to realize Sandburg was going to be a real problem. First there'd been the thing with the Switchman -- he'd been so damn proud of the kid, punching Veronica out like that. Of course, Blair had gone ballistic over it, laying a guilt trip on himself of truly epic proportions. At first Jim thought Blair had been upset about hitting a woman, but an hour of his relentless pacing and self-abuse convinced Jim that hitting _anybody_ would have traumatized the kid. Jim took such minor violence as a matter of course; cops slugged people all the time. It wasn't something you liked to do, but sometimes you had to, and eventually you just got past worrying about it. Anthropologists, however, were something different. Anthropologists were very seldom, if ever, called upon to do violence to anything higher up the food chain than dinner. And for a while, Blair's almost unhealthy fascination with leafy green vegetables had Jim convinced that even dinner could trigger a guilt complex in his partner. 

And so that was how it started. Respect and a suspiciously proprietary sense of pride had become friendship, which had in turn become a partnership so complete it was almost eerie. Blair knew without asking when Jim was upset about something, and somehow knew just the right words to talk him down. Jim could tell when Blair was tense, or scared, or angry, and more often than not could either tease him out of it or talk him through it. Jim wasn't really big on talking, but with Sandburg it was most often just a matter of getting _him_ started, then surviving the flood of information. 

The partnership had become close. And then closer. And then suddenly, there was this affection thing. This 'he smiles and I feel ten feet tall' thing, where one trusting glance from those blue eyes made Jim's heart turn over. 

And everything was different. 

Better, in some ways. It had been a long time since Jim had anyone to love. Before Carolyn, even, though God knew he'd tried with her. Living with Blair, loving Blair, was the easiest and most complicated thing he'd ever done. He knew the kid -- and just about everybody else -- had to be wondering when 'one week and your butt's on the street' had become 'why don't we put up some doors on your room and by the way, how about getting your own phone line'. Jim just couldn't bring himself to discuss it, and he didn't really think it was necessary. He wasn't about to put Blair's name on the deed or anything, but Jim wasn't letting him move out, either. They were a team, and they were staying together. Anybody who had a problem with that, up to and including Blair Sandburg, was going to have a hell of a fight on his hands. And Jim had no intention of fighting fair. 

Blair was a smart guy, he'd figured out he wasn't a guest anymore. Guests didn't steal your best sweater because they'd put their own in with the whites and bleached it. (Not that Jim had minded in the slightest; Blair looked fantastic in that red sweater, and it had been great fun watching him push the sleeves up over and over throughout the day.) Guests didn't knock holes in your living room walls to hang up the ceremonial masks of the Whatsit tribe of Whereverthehell. They certainly didn't make you eat tofu when you wanted egg fu yung, and they almost never invited their hippie peacenik new-age mom over to your place for a three-day visit. In just a few short months, Blair had made himself more at home in Jim's loft than Carolyn had _ever_ been, to the point that it wasn't even really *Jim's* loft anymore. It was _theirs_. 

The thought made Jim grin to himself. [Next thing I know I'll be picking out china,] he thought with amused disgust. [Only knowing Blair, it'd be earthenware, something made in the dark inner reaches of Borneo by some tribe whose name nobody could pronounce. And each dish would have a story behind it. Blair would lean over the table, ignoring his food, talking with his hands, so excited. His voice would be low and sweet, and those blue eyes would practically glow in the light from the candles he sometimes insisted on and... oh, God, Ellison... get a _grip_ on yourself!] 

He shook himself out of that train of thought quickly, before it could derail into territory best left unexplored. Loving Blair was familiar, sweet, but Jim was still new to the passion part of it. He'd never wanted another man, not until he'd returned from that zone-out with Blair underneath him just a few days earlier. _His_ Blair, looking up at him, so distressed, so concerned...and all Jim wanted at that moment was to lean down and kiss him. Taste him. Erase the distress and replace it with...distress of quite a different nature. 

It was life-shattering, it was insane, and it was the most intense physical response he'd ever had to anyone in his life. Since then, Jim ached just thinking about Blair's eyes. Just thinking about his hair. His mouth. God, his mouth was beautiful... 

[Enough!] Jim stood up suddenly, jaw clenched tight. He was _not_ going to sit there pining after a kid who'd just hit mach two to get away from him. There was more to life, damn it. There was work. There were women, if he wanted them. There were the Jags, and then the Mariners, and in the off season there were the 'Niner's. There were books to read, things to learn, people to know. There were any number of pleasures in the world that had absolutely nothing to do with Blair Sandburg's mouth. 

[Ice water,] Jim ordered himself firmly. [Ice water, then a cold shower. Two cold showers.] 

It just might be enough. 

He headed for the kitchen, found a glass, and opened the refrigerator to grab the water jug. He had to rearrange several items to get to it: Half an onion covered with Saran wrap, a tub of something yellow that could only be identified as not-butter, two six-packs of beer... 

Jim froze, eyes narrowing. Two six packs. Brown bottles, full, cold. Sweating, actually, as warm and cool air mingled. 

He reached in and pulled one from the cardboard container, examining the label. 

Yeah. Definitely beer. 

In a moment not too distant, Blair Sandburg was going to have a _lot_ of explaining to do. 

* * *

"Damn it, Blair!" 

"Sorry, sorry...are you okay?" Blair grabbed Sarah's hand and pushed her sleeve back, examining the wrist he'd just battered with a copy of Gray's Anatomy. 

"Ow! Easy! Ask me again when the bleeding stops. What is _with_ you tonight?" 

Blair sighed, letting go of the conspicuously uninjured limb. Sarah could complain for days about absolutely nothing; Blair didn't even want to think of what she could do with a valid excuse. A distraction was obviously in order. "See that clock over there?" he asked, jerking his head toward his desk. 

"Ye-es...?" 

"It's telling me I have exactly half an hour before my roommate comes looking for me with half the police force at his back." [And probably wearing that kevlar vest, too,] Blair thought, not even trying to suppress the hot flash that image engendered. 

Her green eyes went wide with curiosity. "Ah. Mooning over Ellison again?" 

Blair shot her an annoyed look from under the long fall of his hair. Trust Sarah to know exactly what was wrong -- and to display absolutely no tact about it whatsoever. At thirty, the woman had all the social graces of a slightly retarded five-year-old. 

Blair decided he'd probably been the unwitting agent of a just Fate, and stopped feeling guilty about dropping the book on her. "Give it a rest, Sarah," he said with finality. "I'm not going over this thing again. Besides, it's a known fact that Blair Sandburg doesn't moon over anybody. People moon over me, and then I pounce on them. It's one of the cosmic constants of the universe." [It also beats the hell out of chancing rejection.] 

"What's wrong with this picture?" she demanded. "I spill my guts to you, and then you turn around and act like your love life is a state secret?" 

He sighed. This had been a bad idea from the start. He really _had_ meant to stop for beer, but his feet had other plans; he'd passed the corner store and kept going. Eventually he found himself standing outside his office, staring at the wash of light from under the door, cursing himself for ten kinds of idiot. Blair had forgotten about Sarah and her wacky hours; she worked a schedule that made even _his_ look sane. He'd given her the key to his office a few weeks ago when she'd been assigned as his research assistant. 

It had taken about half an hour to figure out that he'd gotten her because no one else would have her; it had taken five minutes more than that to figure out why. She was hard-working, detail oriented, brilliant, and fairly easy on the eyes. She was also the most irritating human being in the Continental United States. Disgruntled postal workers had more charm and restraint than Sarah Parker, and were probably easier to talk to. The first time he'd seen her meeting with a student, he'd looked on with the morbid fascination of someone watching a train wreck in slow motion. The poor undergrad had gone away almost in tears, probably to change her major to something less stressful. Organic chemistry, maybe, or particle physics. 

"You still in there, Doc?" she said. "The clock is ticking, and I have other patients waiting." 

"My love life is _supposed_ to be a private," he said calmly. "And don't call me 'Doc', I hate that." The low, even Guide voice that soothed Jim so easily never failed to irritate the hell out of Sarah; Blair used it every chance he got. "It's not my fault you told me everything about you and David. It's not like I asked or anything." 

"You didn't have to," Sarah said, scowling. "You just gave me that look, and it all came out. I have no idea how you do that." 

Blair grinned, more than a little smug. "That _is_ a state secret," he said. 

"Yeah? Well, it works both ways. Those expressive blues of yours were a dead giveaway. Good thing you don't look at Ellison like that when he's paying attention." 

Blair rolled his eyes. "Paying attention? To me? As if. Believe me, the two seconds of attention I get from Jim per week inevitably fall when I'm screwing something up. Any lust he might see in my eyes he reads as purely scientific." 

Sarah snorted. It did little to raise Blair's estimate of her attractiveness. "So when your blood pressure spikes, you go all red in the face, and your eyes glow like they're suddenly radio-active...he thinks it's just because he's a member of a closed society." 

Blair grinned. "Either that, or I've been eating too much Thai food. Come on, Sarah. This isn't getting you any closer to finishing your paper, is it? Why don't we concentrate on the problem at hand?" 

It was Sarah's turn to sigh and look away, pushing a strand of her long blond hair behind one ear and sliding her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "The paper's not due till next week," she said after a moment's silence. "I didn't really come here to work. I was just--" 

"Hiding out," Blair finished for her. For a moment his own worries were forgotten as he focused in on Sarah. Once you got past the annoyance factor, she was a fairly decent person. She cared; she just didn't want anybody to know it. In that way she was not unlike a certain detective of Blair's acquaintance. "What's David done this time?" he asked now, genuinely concerned. 

"Who," Sarah said, rolling her eyes, though whether at her boyfriend's infidelity or her own naivet was anyone's guess. "The word you're looking for is 'who'. And the answer is: Miss Jane C. Co-ed from his Primitive Religions class. I don't know her name; I've just seen them around together. Tonight he needed to 'drop off some study materials' for her." 

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Blair said quietly, not bothering to conceal his disgust. Sarah had been seeing David Brewster for three months, which was about two and a half months longer than anybody else had lasted with him since he blew into the department. He was the kind of guy everybody loved...except for those few perceptive souls who couldn't stand him. Suave, cultured, handsome, easygoing -- and completely untrustworthy. Blair had filed David away in the mental space he generally reserved for poisonous spiders and thesis advisors, and avoided the man whenever possible. 

Where Sarah's much-vaunted powers of perception had been the day David asked her out remained a mystery. Or where they'd been every day thereafter, for that matter. She was way too smart to get mixed up with a guy like that. [Top of the food chain, and our brains _still_ don't stand a chance when the hormones kick in. Bipedalism, increased cranial capacity, opposable thumbs, and we still fuck first and ask questions later. The first tools we made were probably sex toys.] 

"I just needed to redefine my boundaries," Sarah was saying softly. "Reclaim some personal space, you know?" 

"And you figured since I wasn't using mine...?" Blair softened the words with a smile. His on-campus presence had declined sharply since Major Crimes became his second home. "You can hide out here anytime, Sarah. I just wish you'd--" 

"Confront him, talk to him, tell him how I feel?" Her eyes were angry when they met Blair's, and he flinched in surprise. "You have no room to talk, Blair. At least I've had the guts to try..." 

"Yeah," Blair shot back, surprised into self-defense. "And look at you now! If this is what courage gets you, I'll take cowardice every time, thank you _very_ much." 

Sarah winced. "Ouch." 

"Likewise," Blair said, nodding sharply as his nostrils flared with quick breaths. "That was a pretty low blow, even for you." 

She reached across the space between their chairs and squeezed his hand. "Sorry," she said, meeting his eyes. "I'm just...." 

"Wired," Blair said. He squeezed her fingers briefly, then stood up to pace off the adrenaline spike from their near-quarrel. "It's okay. I know how it is. My shot was pretty low, too." 

"God, what a pair we make. You think there's room for us on Oprah?" 

Blair grinned, feeling the tension ease. "I think we're into Geraldo territory here. Oblivious men and the neurotic grad students who love them." 

Sarah stood up, her lips firming into a hard line. "Not for me. I'm going to talk to David. You're right, I can't just keep all this tucked away." 

"Good for you!" Blair said, moving to get the door for her. "Tell him where you stand." 

"Blair...it wouldn't hurt for you to do the same, you know. Ellison's going to figure it out sooner or later; wouldn't you rather tell him yourself?" 

Blair shoved her out into the corridor and shut the door firmly behind her. He leaned up against it, eyes locked unseeing on the far wall. Tell Jim? Not even if his very life depended on it. It was bad enough he had to go home now and lie. To go home and tell the truth was...unthinkable. [Not to mention unimaginably bad for my continued physical well-being,] he thought with grim amusement. 

"Honesty is the best policy!" Sarah's sharp voice called from outside. 

"Obfuscation is the safest," he answered under his breath. 

Then he grabbed his backpack and keys, and headed home to face the music. 

* * *

"Look, Chief. You either cut back on the hours at the University, cut back on the hours at the station, or cut back on the hours you spend on your social life. I don't give a damn which you pick, but something is going to give starting right now because I am _not_ going to sit here and watch you self-destruct in front of me. Are you _getting_ this, Sandburg?" 

Jim was in mid-rant yet again, and Blair was in mid-sulk. Or maybe he hadn't quite made it to the middle part yet; the full treatment required a slow, steady work-up. It took practice and commitment to achieve a sulk like that, and Blair had devoted a significant amount of time to the effort since moving in with Jim Ellison. 

The conversation had started off badly, with Blair just barely functional after only three hours of fitful dozing; he'd come home to a dark and silent loft, and spent hours channeling his chaotic emotions into work. Sometime around 4 am he'd crashed, the exams he'd been grading scattered around him like light blue confetti. His abrupt foray into consciousness had been precipitated by a none-too-gentle shaking and an unexpected transition to the vertical. Blair found himself sitting on the sofa instead of lying on it, with only Jim's steady grip on his shoulders keeping him upright. 

It took Blair a full minute to remember who he was, where he was, and why he needed to be awake. Unfortunately, that was thirty seconds longer than it took Jim to start yelling. 

"Geez, man, time out!" Blair climbed slowly to his feet, making sure he was standing far enough away that he didn't have to crane his neck to yell back. "Since when is my schedule on the ever-lengthening list of things you're in charge of? Since when do you get to tell me how to run my life?" A yawn he couldn't contain robbed his words of any true force, and brought a flush of mingled anger and embarrassment to his cheeks. 

Jim shook his head in obvious disgust. "Since you ran out last night to buy beer, two six packs of which were sitting happily in our fridge at the time, and came back empty-handed. Since you started acting like a manic-depressive every time I see you. Since I came in here ten minutes ago and found you making like a corpse on the couch, using your laptop as a pillow, so dead tired it took five tries to wake you up," he listed, never pausing for breath as his voice rose. "This is no way to live, Blair. Either you cut back, or I cut back for you. Which is it going to be?" 

"This is _so_ not fair. Who are you to tell me--" 

"Who am I?" Jim's voice went deathly quiet as he took a step closer, and Blair's eyes widened in surprise. He was definitely within neck-craning range now. He was so close Blair could feel the heat coming off of his body. So close he could see the fine lines around Jim's eyes and...mouth... 

Blair closed his eyes tightly, suddenly not tired at all, and prayed his partner would think it was irritation he was hiding. He knew if he had to look at Jim again, he wouldn't have a prayer of concealing his emotions. [Emotions, Sandburg? Aren't emotions generally centered about a foot higher than this? Somewhere in the torso area? Forget about love, kid, your body isn't speaking to your heart right now...] 

"I _thought_ I was your Blessed Protector," Jim said softly. His breath feathered across Blair's cheek, he was that close. Only a feat of iron will kept the younger man from reaching up and wrapping a hand around the back of Jim's neck, pulling his head down and... 

Blair swallowed hard and took a step back, turning away from Jim and trying to get his body back under conscious control. "That's for bullets and bombs and rapidly descending elevators, man," he said, voice shaking with an emotion he hoped Jim would read as anger. "It's for psychopathic serial killers and rogue CIA agents. It is _not_ for my work and it is _definitely_ not for my love life, so just get that out of your head, okay?" 

"It's for everything that puts you in danger, Sandburg, and if that includes you, then I'm damn well going to protect you from yourself. You've got to _rest_ , Blair. You keep stretching yourself so thin, one day you're going to snap, and I don't want to have to pick up the pieces." 

Blair's body went suddenly cold. That hurt. Yeah, that hurt a _lot_. There wasn't any passion to struggle with now; nothing like a knife through your heart to cool you down. "Fine," Blair said carefully, turning to stare into the blue eyes that were so like his own. "You don't need the clutter, I'll just get out of your way." He grabbed his backpack from beside the couch and started for the door. 

His purposeful stride hadn't taken him two steps before a hand on his arm swung him around, back into the battle. 

"Where do you think you're going?!" Jim demanded, his hand painfully tight on Blair's shoulder. 

Blair had no idea where he was going. He didn't think he'd find "Away from Jim Ellison" listed in any travel brochures, but he was betting that there was a flight leaving for somewhere within the hour and at that moment, he intended to be on it. He wasn't thinking about his work or his degree or his Sentinel research; all he wanted was to be breathing air that didn't smell like Jim, looking at things that didn't remind him of Jim. Living a life that didn't involve needing something he didn't understand from a man he couldn't have. 

Maybe if he left now, while he was mad, he'd have the strength to leave for good. "Let go," he growled, ready to yank himself free even if it tore his arm off. 

"Don't." The word was quiet, but no less an order. 

Blair had spent a lifetime questioning orders. "Why not?" 

"Because if you leave you're not coming back, and this is not how either of us wants our partnership to end. Damn it, Blair, we're friends! Don't do this." 

"Do what?" Blair demanded. 

"Wreck things because you're terrified to have somebody give a damn about you." 

"Caring and controlling are _not_ synonymous, Jim." 

"I don't want to control your life, Sandburg, but somebody has to, and you're not even trying. Look," he finished in a quieter tone, smiling a little. "You're my Guide, your job is to back me up, right? How are you going to do that if you're always running on empty?" 

Blair shook his head, pressing his lips together. Guilt. The man could certainly take it, but who knew Ellison could dish it out, too? "That is so below the belt, man. You're preying on this whole Sentinel-Guide connection thing and I _know_ you don't believe in it." 

"Maybe I believe more than you think." 

Blair's eyes narrowed. "Meaning?" 

"Meaning that when you are wiped out, Blair, it _affects_ me. I don't know if that's because you're my Guide or because you're my friend, but it's true. I can't function right when you get like this. Cut me a break, kid -- you're messing us _both_ up." 

Blair froze, his eyes going wide. Trust Jim to wait until the very end, the very last minute, before saying what was really on his mind. Trust Jim to hold back the only thing that made the argument make any sense, the only thing that could make it _bearable_. The young man felt the anger seeping out of him, and didn't bother trying to hang onto it. Jim was right; he _was_ way too tired. 

He sighed, and tossed his backpack onto the floor. "For God's sake, Jim. You could have said that earlier." 

To his surprise, Jim blushed. _Blushed_. "I was mad earlier," Jim said finally. "I worry about you, Blair." He ran a hand over his cropped hair and shook his head. "Somebody has to," he repeated quietly. 

Blair looked away, embarrassed, and began gathering up the graded exams that covered the floor around him. "It's just exam week," he said carefully. The concern in Jim's voice, in his eyes, had nearly been Blair's undoing. "That's always tough, you know that. This was the last batch I had to grade, though. It gets better from now on; I have the whole semester break to get back on an even keel. And hey, it's almost Christmas. Nothing like a holiday to put us all in a better frame of mind, right?" 

"I thought you were Jewish," Jim said, a smile in his voice. 

Blair looked up, and grinned. "Are you kidding? Growing up with Naomi? Winter Solstice all the way, man. The Yuletide, and all that. You don't even want to think about the celebrations. I only got a barmitzvah because my grandmother turned on the guilt." Blair's voice went high and creaky in imitation. "'Naomi, I've so little time left, and now I won't live to see my only grandson, the last of my line, become a man. How can you do this to your old mother?'" He laughed, his voice returning to normal. "Naomi just caved. It was amazing." 

Jim's laughter joined his own, and Blair found himself relaxing again. Funny how laughing with Jim made him feel -- like the world was on course and the planets were in their most auspicious alignment. Like everything was just the way it should be. "So what _do_ you do for the holiday?" Jim asked when the laughter had run its course. 

"Celebrate the true spirit of the season," Blair said, scanning the loft for good places to hang lights and running a quick mental balance of his check book. 

"And that would be....?" 

Blair's grin widened, eyes alight with anticipation. This Christmas could be a _lot_ of fun. "Redistribution of goods, man. Reciprocity." He shouldered his backpack and headed for the door, turning back with an expectant look as he reached it. 

At Jim's blank expression, Blair rolled his eyes. "Presents, Jim," he said. "Lots and lots of presents." 

The panic in Jim's eyes had Blair chuckling all the way down to the street. 

* * *

Blair finished early that afternoon, entering the last of the grades into the student database and posting them on the door to his office a full hour earlier than he'd expected. He scribbled his email address and phone number at the bottom of the grade sheet, silently cancelled his office hours, and headed for home. 

For once, it looked like he'd have the place to himself. [No keys in the basket, no truck in the garage...perfect. A completely Ellison-free Zone.] Grinning, Blair tossed his own keys at the basket, ignoring them when they hit the floor instead, and dumped his backpack on the couch. He paused just long enough to step out of his shoes on the way to the refrigerator, leaving them where they fell and flexing his toes with a happy sigh of relaxation. Time alone was a rare freedom in Blair's life, time alone in the loft even more so, and he intended to revel in it. 

The temptation to make a mess in the kitchen was strong. He fought it off valiantly with reminders of his age and expected maturity level, leaving no trace that he, his beer, or his sandwich had ever been there. Feet on the coffee table were a given; there was no way to resist that urge and Blair didn't even try. He settled himself on the couch, easing back into the cushions and only belatedly remembering to look for the remote control. It was on the television, of all places, and he took a moment to consider whether to trade his present comfort for whatever came on TV at four in the afternoon. 

He couldn't remember when he'd suffered through a happier dilemma. He'd been thinking about it in a blissful daze for three full minutes when the phone rang, yanking him back into the real world. 

[Whoever it is, whatever they want, I'm saying _no_ ,] Blair swore silently. [No I'm not going to the station, no I'm not going back to the University, no I'm not taking over anybody's class or grading anybody's papers or giving anybody's tests...just _NO_. If it requires me to put my shoes back on, I'm *not doing it.*] 

"Hello?" 

*"Blair? It's Sarah. Are you ok? You sound kind of angry."* 

He laughed, relaxing against the cushions again and cradling the phone in the crook of his neck. "Yeah, no, I'm not mad. I was just gearing up to fight like hell for my night off. Where are you?" 

*"Back in your office. You know, you could rent it out if you're never going to use it."* 

"Sorry, all my guilt circuits are temporarily disabled. Try back tomorrow. No, wait. I'm off tomorrow, too. Try back after the holidays." 

*"Don't worry, I don't want to torment you and I don't need any favors. I just need a tiny break from the endless tide of 101 papers and personal crises."* 

"I am not unfamiliar with that need. What can I do? Tell you a story, sing a song...?" 

*"Tell me your life is in better shape than mine. I need to know there's hope."* The laughter that followed the words over the wire was tinged with bitterness, changing the tone of the conversation instantly. 

"Sarah, are _you_ okay? Do you need me to come down there?" [I'm _not_ a pushover; I just won't put my shoes on.] "Forget what I said before; if you need me, I'm out the door now." 

*"No. I mean, yeah, it would be nice to have a shoulder to cry on, but no, coming here won't help. I have too much work to do and no time to spare. It's just...remember what we talked about last night? Being honest about our feelings and true to ourselves, all that?"* 

Blair remembered. He remembered thinking that it was a great idea in theory, but that hell would freeze over before he put it into practice. "Sarah, are you saying you talked to David?" 

*"Talked _at_ him, anyway. Ignore everything I said, Blair -- my conclusions were ivory-tower, utopian bullshit. There's a reason they don't let the academics run the world, you know."* 

"He didn't take it well." 

*"He didn't take it at all. He just walked out on me. Didn't have a single word to say."* 

Blair winced in sympathy. "Ah, man. That is _so_ uncool. I'm sorry, Sarah." 

*"Yeah. Well, it's not like I'd invested a lot of time into him, but it still hurts, you know? Three months may not seem like much, but I expected better from him. A _student_ , for god's sake, Blair. That's so _clich_. I mean, have a little imagination, you know?"* 

"Sarah, David is not famed in song and story for his creativity. Promiscuity, now, that's a different matter." 

*"I know, I know. I was warned. I was warned by _everybody_. I'm a disgrace to women everywhere."* 

"Yeah, I'm ashamed to know you. Come on, Sarah, give yourself a break. The man is a god come to earth; all the women and half of the men in the department have spent a little time drooling over him. You just...drooled a little longer than most, and a little more successfully. Most people don't last past the third date with him, you know." 

*"Even you?"* 

"Ick," Blair said, laughing. "He's _so_ not my type." 

*"And what is your type? Would that be the tall, handsome super-cop type? The straighter-than-a-ruler, touch-me-and-I'll-kill-you type?"* 

[And there goes my last hope for a stress-free evening. I love you, too, Sarah. _Not_.] "I thought we were talking about you." 

*"I've talked enough about me. I want to explore someone else's angst-filled psyche for a change."* 

"Well, my angst-filled psyche is off-line for the evening. My tortured longing for James Ellison is _not_ up for discussion." 

*"Fine. Just remember what I said -- telling them how you feel doesn't work. Really, Blair...you've got a best friend, a really good one, and it's just not worth the risk. If you need proof, take a look at me. The living example of how _not_ to leave well enough alone."* 

"Don't worry. Failing demonic possession or alien influence, I have no intention of enlightening him. If Jim even suspected me of entertaining impure thoughts about him, he'd kill me in my sleep." 

Sarah's reply was lost, over-ridden by a voice from behind him. Jim's voice, deep and controlled. 

"Not in your sleep," he said. "No challenge." 

* * *

Blair's heart froze in his chest, actually missing a beat before breaking into a trip-hammer rhythm that thundered in his ears. He closed his eyes, fighting back panic, fighting just to stay conscious as his world shattered around him. 

Sarah's voice penetrated slowly, as if from a great distance. Speaking required a monumental act of will. "Sarah, I have to go now." [Not too bad...almost sounded like someone with something to live for...] 

*"Blair, is something wrong? Talk to me, damn it! What's happening?"* 

"Karmic justice. I'll call you back." He hung up, switched the ringer off, and set the phone down beside him. [Just breathe, Sandburg. Passing out will only make things worse. Breathe, and for god's sake keep your mouth shut.] "I didn't know you were home, Jim," he said, relieved to find his voice was relatively even. "Where's the truck?" [I can almost _feel_ my life falling apart.] 

"The windshield had a disagreement with a stray rock. The rock won. There wasn't much to do at the station, so I caught an early ride home with Simon while it's in the shop." 

Blair nodded absently, utterly failing to process that information. "Sorry about the shoes. I didn't know you were here." [As if that weren't painfully obvious...] 

"And the keys, and the backpack," Jim said, his voice just as calm. "I think all that can wait. We need to talk." 

"Yeah," Blair said, turning finally to face the Sentinel. "We do." 

Jim's expression was unreadable, his eyes shuttered; he leaned against the table casually, but there was tension in the lines of his body that couldn't be hidden from his Guide. [And I'll always be that,] Blair thought, fiercely possessive of the one thing Jim couldn't take away from him, the one bond that couldn't be broken. [Jim may like to think it's my imagination, but I feel it. It's as real as anything I've ever known, and it's _mine_.] 

Blair drew strength from that undeniable link, clinging to it like a lifeline. "You want to start?" 

"You're the one keeping secrets, Sandburg." 

"Not anymore," he muttered, voice thick with self-disgust. "That was pretty much the last hold-out. Look, Jim, just tell me one thing. Are we about to have an eviction, or a murder?" 

Jim's eyebrows drew together. "What?" 

Blair's voice barely shook at all. "Do I pack my things, or hit the ground running? Find a new place to live, or just concentrate on getting out alive?" 

* * *

Stunned beyond his ability to respond, Jim simply looked at his Guide, trying to put the things he'd just heard into some kind of order. Something he could, just possibly, comprehend. Blair wanted him. That much was stunningly, heart-breakingly clear. The rest, though... Eviction? _Murder_? God, what did the kid think of him? It stopped Jim's heart to think of Blair afraid of him. Afraid for his life? The thought burned into Jim's soul, releasing a depth of anger he hadn't known he possessed. 

His voice was unsteady, fraught with both pain and fury. "You...my god, Chief. You think I could _hurt_ you? After everything that's happened these past two years...you can seriously think that?" 

"Jim..." 

"No! Come on, Sandburg. When you see it happening, how does it work? Do I shoot you? Strangle you? Just beat you to death?" He was pacing, shouting, but he couldn't help it. He didn't really care to help it. The idea that this man, this friend, had been wandering around _afraid_ of him... It cut deep. Deeper than he'd ever thought anything could. 

Blair was _afraid_ of him! Didn't he have any idea of what it meant for them to be Sentinel and Guide? Or, more than that...to be friends? 

"Jim...I'm so sorry." Blair's voice was tinged with dismay. "I...no, I didn't really think you'd... God, what have I done? What am I _doing_? I was just-- I know you wouldn't hurt me. You're my--" 

"Blessed Protector? See, Blair, _I_ always thought that meant something. It was a joke, yeah, but it was also true. I'm a Sentinel, and you're my Guide, and it's my job...it's my _life_...to keep you safe." [And a fine mess I've made of that, but damn it, I'm _trying_. Can't he see that? How can he not _see_ that?] Jim's legs felt weak, suddenly, and he sat down on the other couch, elbows resting on his knees. "I just...I don't understand how you can think I'd ever betray that trust," he said more quietly. "You say you've got this thing for me...Do you even know who I _am_?" 

"Jim, I didn't mean--" 

"Like hell you didn't." 

The pain in Blair's eyes was almost more than Jim could take, but his hurt and anger ran deep; he couldn't back down. The kid sagged onto the couch, hunched forward with his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. Silent and still as he was, misery streamed out of him in waves. If he extended his senses a little, Jim knew he'd be able to smell it in the air, sharp and acrid, like ozone. 

It was, he realized, a scent he'd caught often in the past several months. How many? How long had Blair been this...torn up? How long had Jim been oblivious to his partner's pain? 

He could recognize Blair's heartbeat from a mile away, he'd memorized the face and the body, he'd catalogued every sense associated with the man... but this had slipped by him. Jim took a deep breath, almost a punishment for his lack of attention, taking in the scent of sadness. 

And realizing, as he did so, that it was a sadness untainted by any trace of real fear. 

"I'm sorry," Jim said suddenly, anger fading with that realization. The relief that took its place was overwhelming; his Guide *didn't* doubt him, at least not to that extent. Not to the point of fearing for his safety. Now... Now he had to think about the rest of it. About Blair wanting him. 

Blair looked up and laughed, a choked sound that held no humor. "Yeah. I've totally destroyed my life and our friendship, and *you're* sorry. Just don't let it happen again, okay?" 

Jim ignored the sarcasm. "I won't. Next time I'll be more observant. Look...I over-reacted. I know you're not afraid of me. I'd be able to tell if you were. It just...took me by surprise to hear you say that kind of thing." 

"God, Jim. My mouth was in gear but my brain was idling. You threaten my life about ten times a day, man, but we both know you're just blowing steam. Better to vent than explode, right?" 

"Yeah. And it's better to talk about things than to let them fester. Right?" 

"Jim..." 

"Blair, I don't hate you." Jim wanted to say more, but the words wouldn't come. "I'm not throwing you out. We're still friends. You are still, and always will be, my Guide, okay? Stop me when this gets too sappy even for you." 

This time Blair's laughter was genuine. Still strained...the kid's nerves were probably on permanent edge after months of dealing with this...problem... alone. But sunshine had broken through the storm in his eyes, and Jim felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. 

"You're unreal, Jim," Blair said finally. "And I have _so_ underestimated you. I'm sorry, man. You deserve better than the way I've been acting." 

"Just...don't ever think I could hurt you, Sandburg, okay? Don't even imagine it. The rest, we'll deal with." 

Blair sighed, looking away from his friend. "Will we? I know you're trying to make things right, Jim. It's a really...friendly...thing to do, and I should have expected it. I just don't think it's going to work this time, not with me living here." 

"You don't have to move out. I don't _want_ you to move out." [Ever. Okay? What are you going to do when I say that? _Am_ I going to say that?] 

"When I found out...when I realized what was going on with me... I made my own little private set of House Rules, you know? Rule number one was, 'Don't lust after the Sentinel'. That was pretty much a non-starter; I blew it before I even made it up. Rule number two was 'If you break rule number one, never let him find out.' By my count, I'm down two for two here. That tells me it's time to leave." 

Jim's voice was gentle, to take away the sting of his words. "Leaving _is_ the classic Sandburg response to conflict, Chief, but that doesn't mean it's the right thing to do." 

Blair's eyes snapped up. "That...that is totally unfair, Jim. You think I'm leaving for me? Think I _want_ to go?" He laughed unpleasantly. "If it were up to me, Jim, I'd stay forever. But that is _not_ an option here. I could work with you before, live with you, Guide you. But it's different now. You _know_ now." 

"Blair--" 

"It's all different," he repeated. "I can almost hear your thoughts, Jim. You're sitting there thinking about every time I touched you. Was I getting off on it? Were all those friendly nudges, those casual contacts, just cleverly disguised gropes? And the things I said to you about our friendship, our partnership. What did _those_ things really mean?" 

Jim looked away guiltily. Blair wasn't far off the mark at all, but not for the reasons he thought. [Come on, Ellison. He's baring his soul. Let him off the hook.] 

But he couldn't. Not yet. Jim breathed deeply, trying to control the rapid pace of his heartbeat and find a way to calm himself. He'd tell Blair everything, but...not yet. He had to think, to reason. 

And to do that, he needed to know all of it. 

"Why don't you start back at the beginning?" he said. 

* * *

Blair leaned back into the cushions of the couch, trembling slightly with the need to flee. "I don't know where the beginning _is_ , Jim," he said when he could find his voice. "It kind of...snuck up on me. At first, I thought it was just...you know, hero-worship or something. Tagging after you, helping with the police work, helping with your senses. Then we realized I was your Guide, and then..." 

"Then...?" 

"And then it got worse." [Who are you kidding, Sandburg? It got fucking _terminal_.] 

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" 

Blair rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "And they say there are no stupid questions." 

"Come on, Chief. You can't have thought I'd hate you for being gay." 

"I'm not gay." 

"Okay, bisex--" 

"I'm not bisexual, either." 

Jim raised his eyebrows, questioning. Waiting. 

Blair sighed. "Numerous as we are, my friend, the group of people who have found themselves attracted to James Ellison have yet to choose a group name and incorporate." 

"So you're saying--" 

Jim could almost see Blair's patience snap. The younger man stood abruptly and started to pace, his eyes fairly blazing with the passion he'd been keeping so carefully banked. "I want _you_ , Jim. There's no convenient label for it. You can't name it. It just...is. I've never wanted a man before you, and now that I _do_ want you, I don't want _anyone_ else. No, I don't understand it. Yes, it scares the hell out of me. No, I don't know what to do about it. There's a slight possibility that it has something to do with the bond between a Sentinel and a Guide, but if that's true, Burton wasn't talking and believe me, he would have had something to say. That man was like the world's only NC-17 anthropologist. If he didn't have data on it, there's no data out there to be had. The stronger theory would be that I'm just a really, fundamentally screwed up individual. Now, is this enough honesty and sharing for you, Jim, or would you like me to rip my guts out so you can read my entrails?" 

Jim blinked, looking as startled by Blair's last shot as by any of the rest of it. "Thanks for that image, Sandburg. I'll treasure it always." 

As bad as things were, Blair couldn't help smiling a little. "No problem," he said quietly. 

"When did you first know that it wasn't...you know, just a platonic thing?" 

"Peru," Blair said without hesitation. "That's where it all changed. Or not really changed, it all just got so...clear, you know? All the confusion was stripped away, and everything I felt made sense. I had a lot of time to think when you were off communing with theologically insupportable feline jungle spirits." 

Blair glanced down at Jim and smiled, taking the edge off the joke. The look Jim returned was amused, comfortable...and very, very warm. Surely, not as warm as... No. Surely not that warm. Blair shook his head, and continued. "It came down to what I wanted to be, Jim. There was the whole Borneo thing hanging over us, and it was like...like my life could go either way. It was a cusp. I just looked down both roads, you know, and I felt like I could see what was waiting. On the one side, there was my normal, comfortable life. Go to class, finish the dissertation, get on the tenure track, get married, get old. Very few bullets and almost no psychopaths involved. Just...life, as I always expected it to be. And then on the other side, there was you, and me as your Guide." 

"And you chose me." 

"Yeah. I did." 

"Is it worth it?" 

Blair looked up, grinning ruefully. "I think it is. Pathetic, huh?" 

"Loyal," Jim corrected absently. "Maybe too loyal." 

"Back up, man. You just lost me." 

Jim ignored him, forging ahead. "I want to know more about this Sentinel-Guide connection you've been trying to sell me on, Blair," he said decisively. "You said your feelings...whatever they are...could be a part of it. Is that true? Could this just be a genetic thing?" 

Blair frowned, a little disturbed by the intensity in Jim's eyes. He'd rarely seen the man so focused, so intent, and _never_ so centered on anthropological theories. "To be honest, Jim, I hadn't given it a lot of thought," Blair said slowly. "But look, if you're trying to find some kind of...I don't know, some outside _excuse_ for me, so you can feel comfortable with this, don't bother. I take full responsibility, okay? I want you. I can't seem to help that, but it doesn't mean I have to act on it. Up until now, I've been doing a fairly good job of keeping it out of your way." He stood in front of Jim, putting the full force of his determination in the look he directed down at the Sentinel. 

Jim shook his head, and stood up. His hands rose slowly to Blair's shoulders, and his eyes were very, very deep. Blair swallowed hard, bracing himself against the flood of emotion and desire the contact released. [What is this, a test, Jim?] he demanded silently, unable to speak. [I thought finals week was over...] 

When Jim's hands moved to his hair, Blair was unable to stop the soft sound of need that escaped his lips. The tie that had bound his curls back was gently removed, cast aside, and his hair was being stroked. Finger-combed slowly, from the skin outward, and Jim's eyes were still on him, but the look in them was now unmistakable. 

It wasn't a dream. It wasn't wishful thinking. It wasn't a fantasy. 

Jim wanted him, too. And it was all very, very real. 

* * *

Jim couldn't stop himself. Or maybe he could have, if he'd had any desire to try, but that was gone. What he wanted to do was touch Blair, and so he did it. Carefully, gently, just the way he'd imagined it would be. The hair twining around his fingers was softer than he'd expected, and thicker. The way Blair swayed toward him reached into Jim's heart and filled it, made it whole. The look in Blair's eyes, when he finally understood, was absolutely incandescent, and Jim warmed under it like a man who'd never known the touch of sunlight. It was a look that completed him, the look he'd been waiting to see for years. Not fear or anger or dismay, not the expression his nightmares had conjured. 

Joy. Surprise, yes, that too. And because it was Blair, because nothing ever escaped that wildly unpredictable sense of humor, there was amusement there as well, directed at both of them. 

"God, Jim," Blair said finally, smiling, leaning his head back into Jim's hands. "What a pair of idiots." 

Jim nodded, returning the smile. "Me more than you. I've been hiding it longer." 

"And more successfully," Blair said, his grin softening the accusation. "I never even suspected..." 

"You weren't supposed to. I never would have said anything." 

"I would have," Blair said, his look both certain and ashamed. "I don't think I could have lasted much longer." 

Jim pulled Blair in close to him, wrapping strong arms around him. "Thank God. One of us had some sense." It felt good to hold him, to feel his heartbeat instead of just hearing it. It felt right. He squeezed, and smiled again when Blair's arms encircled him and returned the embrace. [This is the way it's meant to be,] something whispered from the quiet of Jim's heart. [The two of us together. The promise fulfilled.] 

A frown touched Jim's lips. [What promise? What--] 

And the voice of the panther echoed in his mind. 

#To do so will require your life and your soul...# 

He'd thought he was trading his life and soul for his Sentinel abilities. Service, for the ability to serve. 

Could he have been that wrong? His life, his soul...Blair? 

#I had a lot of time to think when you were off communing with theologically insupportable feline jungle spirits...# 

No. No, this couldn't be about that. It was _his_ choice, not Blair's. His choice to go ahead with the Sentinel work, to take that responsibility. 

#It was a cusp. I just looked down both roads, you know, and I felt like I could see what was waiting...# 

#To do so will require your life and your soul...# 

#Okay, I'm ready.# 

Jim pushed at Blair's shoulders, pushed him away. The blue eyes that looked up at him reflected hurt, confusion...and utter devotion. 

And Jim's heart cracked. 

#Peru. That's where it all changed.# 

[No. It's where I changed it for you. I didn't know. God, Blair, I didn't _know_!] 

He'd made the choice in ignorance, and Blair had paid for it. Jim's reward \-- his life and soul, his Guide -- was Blair's...what? Bondage, that was it. Blair was bound to him. Bound by a promise he'd never made. 

"We can't do this," he said quietly, stepping away from Blair, creating a space between himself and his friend's warmth. "It's not right. It's not fair." 

"Jim...?" 

"It's not fair to you, Blair. I..." 

Jim filled his lungs with air and let it out slowly, trying to relax. "This isn't what you want," he said finally. "I did this to you. Me and that damn panther." 

* * *

After a long, stunned moment, Blair laughed. The relief flooding through him demanded it. 

He'd thought it was something horrible. Unimaginably dire things had flashed through his mind, everything from hidden deadly diseases to latent homophobia. This, however, Blair could handle. This was _his_ turf. 

"Jim, calm down," Blair said, leading him to the couch and gently pushing him down. He perched on the coffee table across from Jim, smiling. "Don't you think I've thought of that? Come on, I'm an anthropologist. It's my job to study people's behavior, and that includes my own." 

Jim shrugged off Blair's gentle touch, scowling. "Come on, Sand...Blair. You're the scientist here. Work with me on this, okay? You started having these feelings in Peru, when I promised my life and my soul to this Sentinel thing. When I--" 

"No. I said the feelings became _clear_ to me in Peru, but they started earlier. I can pinpoint it if you want." 

Jim had grown very still; his sharp nod was so quick Blair thought he might have imagined it. 

"Laura. Remember that? When I found you with her in that closet, I was jealous. God, that messed with my mind. I had no idea what was going on. That whole trip to the monastery, I told you that was for your senses, right?" Blair grinned, remembering how nervous he'd been. He'd just known Jim could read him like a book. "Well, I lied. Sorry. I needed to get us someplace quiet, so I could figure out what was up with me. I was sure it was just some wacky Guide thing, a protective instinct, and I needed to get us someplace safe to see if it would go away." 

Even Jim had to laugh at that. "You certainly blew that one." 

Blair nodded, rolling his eyes. "Tell me about it. I am no judge of 'safe,' man. I've stopped even trying." 

"So that didn't work, what--" 

"No, it worked well enough," Blair said. "Not the way I thought, but I found out what I needed to know. When it was all over, and you told me you wanted to pick the location _next time_... Well. It just knocked me over, Jim. There wasn't anything to protect you from then, the danger had passed. The feeling hadn't." 

Blair took a deep breath. His body screamed for him to go to Jim, touch him, taste him, but he fought it back and stood up, moving away from his friend. "I'm...just going to pace for a while, okay?" he said, pulling his glasses from the pocket of his T-shirt and slipping them on. With trembling fingers, he picked up the tie Jim had tugged from his hair and bound his curls back again. A glance toward the couch, a risk he couldn't help taking, found Jim's eyes on him, dark with intent. Blair smiled, ducking his head. "You are _so_ not helping me here, man... look someplace else, okay?" 

"Yeah." Jim hid his own smile and focused his eyes on the coffee table in front of him. "Sorry." 

"All right." The distraction of Jim's heavy blue gaze removed, Blair slipped easily into scientist mode, thoughts ordering themselves almost magically in his mind. "You want to deal with this scientifically, fine. We can do that. What have we got here? Two men, previously straight. One is a Sentinel, the other his Guide. Both are experiencing...what? A strengthening of the bond? A...pull, toward each other. Emotional, and--" 

"And physical," Jim interrupted. "Definitely physical." 

Blair closed his eyes and swallowed hard, the husky tone of Jim's voice breaking through his concentration and wreaking havoc on his self-control. "Yeah," he said carefully, glad for once not to be a Sentinel. His own five, boring, unenhanced senses were enough to deal with; he didn't even want to think about what Jim must be going through. "That, too." 

"So what does that give us?" 

"Let's work it out in terms of the Sentinel's purpose, and the Guide's. Start with what we know: The Sentinel protects and defends; the Guide nurtures and supports. Two sides of the same coin." 

Jim nodded. "I've been thinking. What if Sentinels and Guides aren't just emotionally, spiritually linked? What if there's a genetic link, too?" 

Blair grinned. "What, you mean like relatives? You want to go back and find out where your father was twenty-six years ago? Cause from what I've heard, Naomi was _not_ his type." 

"Cute, Sandburg." Jim smiled, still avoiding his Guide's eyes. "But I'm not talking about us. What if, in the past, there was a genetic link? Like, maybe they would be brothers, or brother and sister, something like that? They'd just about have to come from the same tribe, wouldn't they? And if they were related, maybe that bond strengthened when they became Sentinel and Guide." 

"I'm not sure where you're taking this, Jim." 

"Okay. Suppose they come from the same tribe, and they're related. The bond between them -- the genetic, blood bond -- strengthens when they become Sentinel and Guide. It would happen...because of the need for mutual protection, that kind of thing. But suppose something happened, and a Sentinel from one tribe was paired with a Guide from another, someone not related. Maybe in that case, they would... instinctively... seek out another kind of bond. Strengthen _that_ , in place of the missing genetic link. Maybe that's what's happening here with us, now?" 

Blair's eyes widened and fairly glowed with excitement. "That's it!" 

Jim looked startled. "It is?" 

Blair laughed. "No...okay, kind of. Jim, there's a reason you're the cop and I'm the anthropologist, okay? You're completely, totally wrong \-- right up until the end. I have _got_ to write this down. I can't believe I missed it...it's so *obvious!*" The light of discovery warmed in Blair's eyes, his excitement palpable as he searched the room for a pad and pen, then started writing. "Burton had to have known about this. I just hope it's in one of the journals that survived." 

"Okay, Chief, tell me what's going on under all that hair." 

As he spoke, Blair's hand flew over the page, eyes flicking up now and then to make sure his partner was paying attention. "Look, Jim, you were almost there. It's not genetic, because that's not the way people work. It was only _after_ we started to form societies that the relationship between siblings began to be cooperative. Social needs in competition with instinctive behaviors lead directly to the conflicts we call 'sibling rivalry.' See? It's a clich because it's true, and it always has been true. The tendency is for siblings to compete -- for resources, for territory, for parental attention. You know, survival of the fittest. The kind of bonding required between a Sentinel and a Guide would be in direct opposition to that instinct -- it *couldn't* work. 

"But there's another instinct that's _perfect_ for the Sentinel/Guide relationship. Something that runs deeper than blood." 

"And that's..." 

"Mating!" Blair grinned, as amused by the idea as he was excited. "Think about it, Jim! All animals instinctively protect their mates; some for longer periods of time than others, but it's always there. And from another angle: What would happen if the Sentinel and Guide *weren't* mated? They'd be forced to mate outside of the bond, which would lead to divided loyalties. The Sentinel would be torn between protecting the Guide, the Tribe, and the Mate. Prioritizing would become too difficult, the decision-making window too crowded with considerations. The Guide would be torn between nurturing a mate and nurturing the Sentinel. The strength of the Sentinel/Guide bond lies in it's exclusivity, Jim, that's _got_ to be it!" 

"But if that's true, it's not just the Sentinel who's genetically unique. The Guide is, too. He'd have to be, to share that...compulsion to join." Jim's face reddened, but he held his ground, refusing to be embarrassed by a genetic imperative. 

Blair nodded enthusiastically. "Right! They hook up because of that compatibility. Almost literally _made_ for each other. The proper instincts -- nurturing, instructing, _guiding_ the Sentinel -- and the ability to work with the bond, would be factory installed." 

Jim frowned. "I don't like it. Everything you've said...it still means this thing isn't about _us_." 

Blair groaned impatiently. He was about to spontaneously combust and Jim wanted an anthropology lecture. There was no justice in the world. Mr. Action was suddenly intellectually curious, and Blair, the king of talking it over, wanted nothing more than to shut Jim up and then nail him to the floor. [In a gentle, tender, and totally romantic way, of course,] Blair amended. [Yeah. Right.] "Jim," he said, his voice husky with barely-repressed need. "You _are_ a Sentinel. It's a part of you. Being a Guide is part of _me_. These are just...just words we've chosen to describe what we've always been. The bond between us makes this a little easier, yeah. Maybe without it we'd never have been able to admit these feelings to ourselves, let alone to each other. That *doesn't* mean the feelings aren't real, or come from outside of us." [Surely that'll do it. Surely that's enough. The couch is kind of small. Which bedroom...?] 

Miraculously, Jim was nodding. Then he was speaking again, which wasn't so great. "So this is...I mean, is it Jim Ellison you want? Not the Sentinel?" 

He didn't get it. Blair was beginning to worry that he'd never get it. "Damn it, Jim! *There's no difference*. Look, if you can you show me the Sentinel , I'll look him over and tell you if he pushes my buttons, okay? I just really seriously hope you don't think I'm turned on because you can hear a bug chewing grass at fifty paces or spot a piece of yarn a hundred yards away. I'm not staring at your mouth because I know it can taste one molecule of vanilla in a cup of water. I'm staring at it because I would really, deeply appreciate it if you could find some use for it that doesn't involve talking. The sooner the better. Am I getting through here?" 

Jim smiled slowly, seeming to come to a decision. His eyes, when they met Blair's, held less curiosity and more...interest. "So much for scientific detachment." 

"That kind of went out the window when I started lusting after my thesis subject, Jim." 

Smiling almost shyly, Jim held Blair's gaze. "Don't hold your breath for an apology, Sandburg," he said quietly. 

Blair's lips curled slowly upward, eyes alight with pleasure. [Oh, yes. _Finally_. It's about time.] "Jim..." he said. "Did I mention...that when you look at me like that, I want to..." 

"To...?" Jim's voice was even softer, barely audible. He rose from the couch and crossed the room, stopping directly in front of Blair, only a breath away. 

A breath Blair couldn't seem to find. He looked up, found ice-blue eyes filled with a strange, uncharacteristic warmth, and decided that breathing was over-rated. 

"Push me away again, Ellison, and I am _not_ going to be responsible for my actions," Blair said, moving in close. 

Jim's answer was silent, but convincing. His hands moved to Blair's face and tilted it up, framing the strong jaw and running thumbs lightly over the lower lip. A slight pressure opened Blair's mouth, and Jim took it with his own. Blair moaned, the desperate sound lost in the kiss. The first touch of Jim's tongue against his struck a chord that resonated from his mouth to his groin, bringing Blair to a shuddering hardness. He surrendered to it, lost himself in it, his body moving against Jim's without caution or inhibition. 

Jim's response was immediate, possessive, taking Blair's narrow hips in his hands and pulling them up, close, heat to heat. His mouth grew demanding as all his questions were answered, taking in earnest what before he'd only requested. There was no hesitation, no pause for thought. Blair reveled in the sweet, dangerous thrill of passion echoing between them, undeniable. 

Even this, the first, limited sharing of their bodies, ignited a response in Blair that was wilder and stronger than he'd thought possible. It was companioned by a surge of tenderness, electric need entwined with sweet, strong emotion. He felt like a conduit, communicating with his body a range of feeling too deep to be his alone. With the touch of their lips the bond was consummated, and Jim joined him in the heat of it, completing him. 

Sanity returned in slow stages, the fire receding for a few merciful moments. 

"Dear God in Heaven," Jim murmured breathlessly, pressing his forehead against Blair's and struggling for air. 

"Didn't think you were the religious type, Jim," Blair answered weakly. 

"Five minutes ago I wasn't." 

Blair smiled, his heart full. "I hope you chose a permissive god." 

"Blair..." Jim's voice was soft, hesitant. 

"Yeah?" Blair leaned back in Jim's arms. With strong, gentle hands he framed Jim's jaw and tilted his face up, forcing eye contact. "What is it, Jim?" 

"We're both new to this. I don't know how to proceed. Where to we go with it?" 

Blair thought about it for perhaps three seconds. "Your bed is bigger," he said slowly, "but mine is closer, and size isn't everything." 

Jim grinned, allowing himself to be tugged toward Blair's bedroom. "Hidden insecurities, Blair?" 

"You're welcome to investigate." Leering at Jim was a new experience, but it was definitely one Blair could get used to. 

"Maybe we should...you know. Read a few books about--" 

Blair cut the sentence short with a kiss, pressing Jim down onto the bed and stretching out beside him. When he pulled back, Jim's eyes were slightly glazed. "What was that you were saying, Jim?" Blair asked, his voice deep, teasing. 

"Ah...." Jim closed his eyes, and pulled Blair's head back down. "Nothing...." he said quietly. 

Blair grinned, and ran his tongue lightly over Jim's lips, seeking entrance, then pulling back again as they opened for him. "You're sure?" 

"Blair!" Jim demanded, half-moaning. 

"I never thought much of second-hand sourcing, anyway," Blair said, smiling against Jim's mouth. 

And then the time for words was past them, and for a long while neither man said anything at all. 

~ 

Feedback welcome as always at meredith@netdoor.com 


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